Inside My Mind
by Raven Black and Jinks Loather
Summary: An interpretation of dear Erik's time knowing Christine, from the very beginning. PLEASE reveiw! This is my first real Phantom of the Opera fic! It is only rated T for possible future content. A NEW CHAPTER, AGAIN! Real stuff this time. PLEASE R/R!
1. Angel of Music?

**A/N: I woke up yesterday morning, and I was Gaston Leroux!... No, wait, he's dead... I was Andrew Lloyd Webber!... No, I hate that guy for his horrible berating of the original novel. Oh well. My point is that I own nothing relating to any characters from the wonderful novel/mediocre movie "The Phantom of the Opera". I also do not own the titles of any of those old operas, such as "Faust" or "Othello", in case those copyrights are being heavily tracked on fanfiction, too. Also, if you've not read the book, Madame Giry is only a box keeper, and Moncharmin was a previous owner of the opera house.**

**Inside My Mind**

Chapter I- "Angel of Music?"

She was... a_ vision_, one could say, when she came to the opera house that night. I was presently skulking in the rafters, as I tended to do when that abysmally _idiotic_ Moncharmin was doing something I thought suspicious. The child was being closely followed by Madame Giry, that shy, wide-eyed little girl being led onto the vast, ostentatious stage of Paris like a chick being led to the edge of its nest to take flight for the first time. I remember distinctly how she shuddered as she stepped further onto the stage, the very echoing of her tiny footsteps only seeming to terrify her more. Her beautiful pale, almost silver Swedish hair was combed neatly around her face, only accentuating the timidity of her appearance.

Apparently spotting the fact that the girl seemed an inch from fainting, the very prudent Madame Giry quickly took the trembling girl back into her arms, leading her downstairs to the chamber where people of the opera light candles for their loved ones-(how I laughed when I first heard Moncharmin talking of the designing of this new room..._love!)-_to light a candle for her father, whom Madame Giry mentioned had passed away very recently.

Intrigued by this notion, I quickly followed them- having the agility commonly associated with monkeys or cats, this task is rather easy for me- and found the girl, alone, kneeling by a small, cream-coloured candle. I was watching her through a mirror of my own design- one of many- they are two way, and they pivot, so as to let people in from the outside... I do _wonder_ what must have come over me when I made them in that way; surely no-one would ever be entering one of my mirrors from the outside!

A strange, rather strangled feeling began to well in my chest as I watched this poor little girl weep gently for her father, small, whispered prayers occasionally sneaking through her tears. _Pity!_ I realized with a rush of self-disgust. From all of my years watching men fall from the rafters and breaking their necks, little ballerinas falling where they stood on the stage from the mere heat, and I felt _pity_ for a little girl whom I did not even know the talents of! As I turned to leave her, abhorred by my own savage emotions, I heard the girl begin to sing softly...

_"Pie Jesu, Pie Jesu, Qui tollis peccata mundi, Dona eis requiem, Dona eis requiem..."_

I stopped as she sang... She was _very_ well trained for her age, that much was true, and she sang the verse with such tragic emotion that I had to take in a heavy breath to calm myself. She had broken off quickly, her sweet soprano voice falling again into a flood of tears. _She is so little,_ I told myself stubbornly as I turned back to the mirror, rather against my better judgment. _None of the foolish staff at this opera house will even consider giving her lessons to sing at such an age... Why can't_ I _teach her? There is no harm in that, teaching a child from behind a mirror..._ Quietly, so as not to surprise the child, I finished her _Pie Jesu_ for her...

_"Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei, Qui tollis peccata mundi, Dona eis requiem, Dona eis requiem, Sempiternam, Sempiternam requiem..."_

I saw her look around the room in awe as I sang to her, her tears stopping almost alarmingly quickly. She stood up slowly as I sang, as though in a trance, her light blue eyes seeming to cloud over as she stared blankly to the vaulted ceiling of the room.

"H-hello?" she said in a strangely bright tone, as though the mere sound of my voice fulfilling one of her deepest dreams. "Who is that singing? Er…m-my name is Christine Daae... A-are you the Angel of Music?"

_An angel!_ How cruelly ironic this girl was being... This loathsome living corpse who only survived in life by _killing,_ she dared to call an _angel!_ Oh, the ingenuous naivety of childhood...

"Yes, my dear," I lied sweetly, watching an extremely wide smile break over her pretty face as I told her this. "I am indeed the Angel of Music. I was sent by God to teach you how to sing, now that your teacher has passed on." I heard her gasp as I finished my sentence.

"You know that Papa taught me to sing?" she breathed incredulously, clasping her hands at her breast, her eyes still roving about the ceiling.

"Of course, child- I know how far every single person on this earth has come with their music... And _you,_ my dear Christine, have the most pure voice I have ever heard... If_ you_ promise to pledge yourself to me and my teachings, _I _promise that I will teach you to sing like one of God's own angels!" I finished this statement with a deliberate note of triumph- if I was to be an angel, I had to act the part! She fell to her knees as I finished speaking, tears beginning to flow from her eyes again, that wide smile plastered onto her now rather flushed face.

_"Yes!"_ she sobbed to the ceiling, reaching up to it as though there were someone there, ready to embrace her. "Yes, I promise, Angel! I promise..." She clasped her hands at her chest again, sobbing with unbridled joy for her newly discovered angel... or demon, as the case may have been.

**A/N:** **Yes, you _WILL_ review this. All who do so will receive an Erik that will beautifully serenade you at your command. All who do_ not_ will have a crazed, bloodthirsty Erik (Punjab lasso included!) invade their dreams tonight. Sorry for the terrible length, by the way. I've got to work on that.**

**Chapter II shall be coming shortly...**


	2. Lessons

**A/N: Yeah, I own none of these great characters. I just mess with them. Also, just so you know, my story will probably not be accurate to the original novel "The Phantom of the Opera", the latest movie, or Susan Kay's "Phantom". You will most likely see ideas from all three- well, maybe not the movie- implemented into this. There may even be some vague references to "The Trap-Door Maker". Just so you know. **

Chapter II- "Lessons" 

I was rather surprised, at her first lesson, how absolutely _subservient _little Christine was to me- after the first time that I had conversed with her, I decided to merely throw my voice to sound as though she were hearing it in her mind, almost like a "real" angel- and from the time I told her to meet me in her dressing room for her first voice lesson, I sensed that I could tell the poor child to throw herself off the face of the earth, and she would do so without question, anything for her dear _angel._ She was so unknowingly obedient, it was actually rather sad to witness.

"Angel?" she said in her soft, tremulous voice, looking around the dimmed room as though doubting my coming. Again, I was watching her behind a mirror, that one barrier between what was her fanciful reality and the abhorring cruelty of truth. "Angel... are you there?"

"Yes, my dear," I crooned to her in a soothing voice, watching that bright, slow smile creep across her face again, "I am here. Shall we sing?"

"Oh, yes, Angel!" she cried brightly, choosing, oddly enough, to stand in front of the veranda mirror behind which I stood. As she stared at her reflection, it was as though she saw _me,_ staring at _me_ with those sweetly adoring blue eyes full of pure elation...

"I thought it best that we start with some hymns," I said to her a fraction of a second too late, causing a clear falter in my purposely omnipotent tone of voice that left me rather doubtful that I would be able to keep up this charade for very long. "Hymns are always a wonderful thing, for they inspire passion in mortals- they seem to find singing the praises of the Lord a very powerful thing indeed." I grinned savagely to myself as I finished speaking- since I was a small child, I had believed that there was no such a being. I had had_ right_ to. "_Animals don't have souls..._"

I was taken rather forcefully out of my reverie of old Father Mansart when the girl spoke again. "Yes, of course! I love hymns!" she cried blithely, clasping her hands together yet again. "What shall we sing?"

"'Ave Maria', by Johann Sebastian Bach," I told her decisively, watching for a flicker of recognition. "Surely you know this piece?" Apparently, she was suffering as much from thoughts as _I _at that moment, for she shook her head experimentally before looking more attentively to her reflection.

"Oh... oh, yes, of course," she said in a rather distracted tone, her previously sparkling eyes appearing to have dulled with whatever sombre thought she was having.

I had brought my violin to this lesson- only a minute amount of eavesdropping about the theatre told me that her father was a rather famous string-player- not only to serve as accompaniment, but also to bring a sense of well-being to the girl, to make her feel safe when she was with me.

_"Sing,"_ I whispered to her slightly imploringly as I placed the lovely instrument under my chin in anticipation.

_"Ave Maria Gratia plena Maria, gratia plena Maria, gratia plena Ave,"_ she sang as my bow moved smoothly across the strings. What _torture_ it was to listen to her this time! She was singing smoothly and on pitch, of course, but there was no _passion_ in this song like there was in the requiem! I had to continue playing, though- despite my already heated temper, I could not be so horrible to little Christine. Besides, if I yelled at her, she may not have liked me anymore...

_"Liked me anymore?"_ _God,_ I sound like a little boy attempting to impress a friend of his that he secretly fancies! What_ power_ that that girl held over me without even knowing it- we would do anything to make the other happy, it was almost as though we were _both _in love, but I knew better. She was in love with the gentle, beautifully unearthly voice of the Angel of Music, not_ Erik,_ the "Freak of Nature," "'Angel in Hell,'" the "'Living Corpse,'" the "'Angel of Doom," "Opera Ghost..."

_"Don Juan..."_

Until this moment, I never realized just how many _wonderful _names I have acquired in my time.

The girl continued singing in her crystal clear soprano as I played, blatantly singing her heart out despite all of the pain that she was unknowingly causing me.

_"Ave dominus, Dominus tecum Benedicta tu in mulieribus Et benedictus Et benedictus fructus ventris Ventris tuae, Jésus." _She even dared to smile to her reflection as she sang this verse, as though sure it would please me! I knew, then, that I would have to be strict to Christine for her to understand what I wanted of her- she was so horribly _innocent!_

_"Stop," _I ordered her sharply, the G that I had only just played on my violin floating almost hauntingly away into the tense silence that followed my command.

"Angel?" she asked in a terrified voice, looking, apparently intuitively, to the ceiling. "Wh- what is wrong? Did I miss an accidental?"

"Miss Daae," I began in a dangerously controlled whisper, "I need you to _sing!_"

"I'm trying, Angel!" she cried almost desperately, her pale blue eyes already shining with tears- did this girl not know any _discipline_ with her father? I sighed exasperatedly and lay a hand across the eye holes of my mask. Apparently, this would be a more difficult task than first expected...

"My dear, I need you to sing with _passion,"_ I told her firmly.

"I thought I was, Angel... I really did!" she choked while turning her teary eyes to the floor in a gesture of unconscious submission.

"I need you to sing like you did for your father," I said evenly, though I believe with a note of exasperation- the girl's naivety was rather testing my awful temper. "I need to know that you are committed to me through your voice- only then can I possibly teach you as you wish." The child seemed a bit startled by this command- apparently it was difficult for her to imagine singing as fervently as she had for anyone other than her father.

"I don't think I can, Angel," she admitted quietly to the floor, crystalline tears beginning to fall from her eyes. I realized then that I would have to teach her to sing from the beginning- I had failed to consider that her teacher had died and- most likely- her father's teachings as well.

"Start at the top of the piece, my dear Christine," I said gently, breaking boldly through the suffocating silence that had fallen between us as she cried.

_"If I need to possess the girl's soul to make her sing... so be it!"_ I thought savagely to myself as my bow began to slide unthinkingly over my violin's resonant metal strings.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that took so long- not only did I have _MASSIVE_ writers' block, but I've been really busy in school lately. Sorry if this one is rather anticlimactic- but I do have some sentences written for one of my later chapters, though, that sparked some interest in my friends. If you review today, you will receive a kind Erik, who will be very amiable and gentle to you if you're upset. And of course, if you don't, you will receive instead a murderous Erik who screams obscenities at you. Choose wisely. **

**Chapter III is on its way...**


	3. Magnetism

**A/N: You _know_ that I own none of this by now- there is really no point in reading this drivel again.**

**Be warned- this chapter is a real shock of sexual themes after my first two, _exceedingly_ tame chapters. This chapter will probably also be a small apex, because I will undoubtedly end up suffering from writers' block after the "excitement" of this one.**

**Kindly note that this chapter alone just _may_ deserve an "M" rating, but because of how abysmally boring and platonic the others have been, I am standing by my "T" rating for now. _PLEASE_ reveiw this one- I have rather dedicated myself to this chapter more than the others and would like to know what you think of it.**

Chapter III- Magnetism

Over the next several years, my dear Christine's voice evolved into something _wonderful,_ of almost mythical proportions. Even though her naivety could be very frustrating at times, I only grew to love her more- like a father would love his most beautiful daughter, one might say.

I noticed- with a painful twinge of self-scorn- that I had started doing all in my power to see her happy. If she claimed to dislike someone or something around the Opera, I would be sure that something was done about it immediately. I had not yet killed for her- God knows I _still_ feel in horrible debt to Nadir after the rosy hours of Mazderan- but a sense of dark foreboding still seemed to hang over my thoughts whenever I did something to please her, as though deaths would one day be inevitable.

Of course, that was not_ all_ that I had discovered about my relations with the girl...

I believe I first deciphered the metamorphosis in my feelings towards Christine during spring... yes, it had been an exceedingly warm spring night, just after Christine had turned sixteen... She was smiling widely as she came to her mirror, elation practically emanating from her person. I even smiled to myself at this sight- it was the most blessed thing in the_ world_ to receive a smile from Christine, even if it was not really meant for me.

"Angel... oh, Angel, today I was asked by one of the other ballerinas- the curly-haired one, Romaine- to try to sing as Margarita from _Faust_... All of the girls said that I must have been blessed by God himself!" cried the girl in her exuberant tone of voice reserved solely for her attempts to impress me- I had never given out praise lightly with her, as she had been so unabashedly coddled by her father when I first tried to teach her.

But, that night, my mind- while still concentrating entirely on Christine- had not managed to properly process a word of her bright announcement.

"Indeed?" I questioned slightly off-handly, leaning uncharacteristically on the side of the tunnel in which I stood- for some odd reason, I was feeling a bit fatigued in that moment. "Those girls should appreciate my triumph while they can." I suppose she thought that to imply that she would be a famous Prima Donna, as she smiled more blithely, her porcelain face lit up in an incredibly pretty manner. I do not know to this day exactly what I meant by that statement- I had been oddly distracted at the time.

"Thank-you," she said breathlessly to the mirror, clearly reveling in my strangely lavish praise.

It is here that I believe it happened. I realize now that I must have been gluttonously drinking in her appearance, for I distinctly remember everything about her from that night- her eyes, her large, sparkling eyes, were alight in the softest blue colour I had ever seen, well masking the girl's true level of intellect. Her long platinum hair was swept elegantly to the small of her back, tied loosely at the top with a haughty blue bow. The white gown she had been given for her birthday was fitted to her amazingly well- I remember being rather transfixed by the subtle rising and falling of her comely breast as she breathed. Her face still pulled into that jubilant smile, she broke me from my reverie with sickening force.

"Angel?" she questioned airily, seeming perfectly unconcerned, despite my long, imposing silence.

I noticed, as Christine forced be back to reality, that my heart was racing wildly, my hands clenched into quivering, sweat-soaked fists at my sides, and... well, I should say that I _greatly_ appreciated the dark solitude awaiting me at the house by the lake.

"I am sorry, my dear, but I am afraid we must end your lesson here tonight," I told her with a level of calm that surprised me.

"Alright. Good-night, Angel," she said absently, untying her bow and tossing her thick mane of silvery hair around her slim shoulders affectedly.

I stormed rather violently through the winding passage to the last cellar, absolutely _disgusted_ with myself. What more could I possibly desire from my dear little Christine? I had successfully molded the girl's voice into a thing of awesome, godlike beauty, something that I alone could lay claim to... And yet, I found that that was no longer all that I desired from her.

_I wanted Christine!_

I always fancied her to be like a daughter or a niece- but a _lover?_ The chivalrous ethics painfully hammered into me as a boy screamed that the idea alone was pure incest... Not to mention the simply_ repugnant_ number of years between us.

When I finally arrived at my sprawling home, I swear that the house shook from the force with which I slammed the front door- only a slight release of the massive tension that had arisen from my meeting with Christine. My face searing beneath the awfully heat-retaining black mask, I cast the aside quickly and ran my hands frustratedly through my thin raven hair, clutching it in a still tremulous, though vice-like grip. I had to rid myself of this _damned_ anger….

Without another thought, I strode to my chamber, where the great pipe organ is mounted across from the dark coffin in which I sleep, above which long black drapes proclaim the notes to my favourite _Dies Irae_ in ominous blood-red thread. I ripped open the score to my incredibly ironic work- _Don Juan Triumphant_- and began to pound out a series of savage chords in a thundering fortissimo. The music tested even my own senses, traveling through so many accursedly_ relatable_ human emotions that I felt slightly nauseated.

Despite the release of anger I had achieved through my music, there was still a level of gnawing tension that- while experienced very few times in my life- always inspired in me the macabre desire to cut out my still-beating heart and crush these repulsive longings for something entirely beyond my reach. My heart again began to pick up a furious tempo as I moved away from the organ, towards another tall, intricately-designed door.

I was instinctively drawn to the room opposite my chamber, containing my poor, unhappy mother's possessions I had acquired after her death, along with a few items I had managed to whisk away from Christine in moments of overpowering self-indulgence. I had little- only a shoe-buckle, one of her flouncy blue hair ties, and a note written in her handsome copperplate hand- yet these simple items bared such ridiculous significance to me that I rarely entered that room.

I sat with almost an air of shame on the edge of my mother's brilliantly gilded golden-swan bed- the very bed in which I was born- my incessant heart making it entirely impossible to draw my mind away from the sweet image of _Christine, _sitting there so innocently before my eyes, completely unaware of the dammed desire building in the back of my consciousness for so long... With Luciana- and even the _khanum,_ if what repressed feelings I had towards the woman could be so named- there had still been that_ naive_ assumption that the feelings would pass in time. I had also hammered into my mind that it was impossible for any woman to feel anything other than fear, revulsion- or, again, in the case of the khanum, (and _Javert_, for that matter,) even repulsive lust- towards me.

But my enticing little Christine defied that law every time I met with her, bringing an absolutely_ fatuous_ sense of hope back into my loathsome mind, my mind that had been so _plagued_ by the consternation of society when it saw what I was...

In a strangely trance-like manner, as though I had just begun feeling the effects of a heavy dose of morphine, my left hand- of its own accord, it seemed- began to move tremorously towards my heavy leather belt.

_Did I dare do such a thing?_ And was it possibly _Christine,_ she who had brought a bit of purity back into my life of eternal darkness, turning me to _this? _A million questions raced through my mind when I considered the decision in front of me, including- oddly enough- whether I would be punished by _God_ for such an act.

Surely _He,_ who had given me this life of torment, would not find me at fault for a moment of simple pleasure...

I laid back on my mother's majestic old bed carefully, an odd sense of_ power_ resonating in my mind, as well as the unknowingly seductive voice of Christine singing for_ me_...

ooOooOooOoo

When I again emerged from the small, now almost oppressively shadowed room, I had two immediate feelings- one was that committing that act with thoughts of my _child, Christine,_ only proved the seriousness of my disturbing new feelings for her, and that I would never be able to meet with her again... but I had to. The girl would be devastated if she thought she had lost her dear _angel's_ love...

The second- despite the fact that my mind was still reeling- was oddly sane. I believed that I had finally procured a new depth of emotion to incorporate into _Don Juan_...

* * *

**A/N: Heh heh... Wow, and just _you_ thought it was impossible for me to write worse than my last chapter... Please forgive me for this- it is the first _at all_ perverse thing I have written, as you can undoubtedly tell, so it probably sounds incredibly stupid.**

**PLEASE review this chapter! I BEG of you- it only takes a moment! I am just incredibly anxious about posting this chapter all, so I really need to know what you think...**

**Chapter IV will come eventually...**


	4. Possession

**A/N: Kindly note that I am using A LOT of speech from the original novel, not to mention a basic order of events. And that I own nothing that you recognize as someone else's, as you must know BY NOW.**

**Sorry if this one is too boring due to all of the things you've already read! Also please understand that this one may well be a bit confusing, considering I am using themes from all of the different "The Phantom of the Opera" junk I have seen/read.**

Chapter IV- Possession

Despite my seemingly daily increase in sexual desire for Christine, I managed to exercise a level of self-control concerning her that surprises me to this day- not to say that there were no repercussions from my incessant wanting of the girl. It became harder to retain my concentration when teaching her- I often had to merely refrain from looking at her during vocal lessons- and I became increasingly worried that she would figure out that I was not her dear _angel..._ Of course, I give the girl too much credit- she was, as I have undoubtedly said before, not the quickest person.

A good thing did come of my feelings for Christine, though- I found that I was using a good deal less morphine those few months before I took her, at least partially succeeding in having my mind give way to an entirely different addiction.

However, I still cannot describe the level of _raging_ jealousy coursing through my veins when I heard of Christine's little tryst with that _goddamned_ Vicomte de Chagny... The boy was the youngest of a very proud line and accursedly good-looking- when Christine came to me the night after she had finally sung Prima Donna under my instruction, the night she became the jewel of Paris, the night she was to sing for _me,_ I confronted her.

"You are late," I told her quietly, in a rather hurt voice as the girl entered her dressing room as discreetly as she could.

"Forgive me, Angel... I was meeting with an old friend," she said to the floor. She was clearly worried about what my reaction to her blatant betrayal would be, but I could not be lenient with her... it was enough of a test for me just to maintain my gaze upon her.

"Do you value the love of your boy more than you do mine?" I asked her with an air of human sorrow that clearly betrayed my charade- though it was impossible to tell if she noticed.

"No! Of course not, Angel!" said the girl wildly, clasping her hands impulsively at her chest. I suppose that normally, I would have questioned her further, but the girl's submissive innocence made me always take her word.

"Then you will be sure to refuse his advances, you shall not speak a word to Monsieur Raoul..."_ You will sing for_ me, I thought desperately to myself, rather like a child in hopeless denial. Christine was_ mine;_ I would have no other man even lay a finger on my beautiful little girl...

"Of course... anything!" she said with a wary, tremulous smile to the ceiling, as though she were to be physically punished for her actions and wished to apologize through that gesture.

"Tonight shall not be repeated," I told her definitely. I knew that she was not singing to earn _my _love that night, though the beauty of her voice had practically reduced me to tears... I was sickened to know that such beauty was inspired by that loathsome little _boy_.

_Young Raoul must watch himself... the Opera Ghost is not normally so forgiving!_

ooOooOooOoo

That _damned _manager! That absolute _imbecile,_ Firmin Richard... how he so _willingly_ defied my orders! Mademoiselle Carlotta Gudicelli had the most awkward, screeching soprano I have ever had the misfortune to hear- even my dear Christine deemed her a "toad"... And that _abysmal fool_ made her Prima Donna in _every single opera!_

Considering the circumstances, there was only one thing to be done... after all, the woman _was_ greatly upsetting Christine...

How I laughed when _La Carlotta_ attempted to sing, despite her deplorable croaking! She did not crack or overshoot a note, oh no... _I had turned the woman into a toad!_

Not only that, but to prove to my new manager that he should _listen _when I gave demands, I felled the magnificent crystal chandelier... a little trifle to impress him with. Panic ensued immediately after this event- I saw Christine run in the direction of her dressing room, presumably to consult with me.

_"Angel?"_ she cried in a frenzy, her pale eyes alight with terror. "Angel? Are you alright?"

At the sight of the girl's desperate concern for my safety, I knew that I could wait no longer to commit this vile deed that I had been formulating for some time... Just as I had stolen a few small trinkets, her voice, possibly even little Christine's soul out of the absurd need to have as much of her as I could, I was taking another dangerous plunge, by finally completing my possession...

_"Come! And believe in me! Whoso believes in me shall live! Walk! Whoso believes in me shall never die!"_ I sang as passionately as I could manage, slowly opening the vast double-sided mirror to allow her inside- Christine could never refuse me when I sang. I had chosen this verse carefully- I wanted to have a real impact on the girl's mind, so that when she finally came back to reality, she would not be entirely abhorred by my actions... though my choice of music was not likely to affect her feelings when she realized that I was not her dear angel.

Christine cried out as she realized that she was no longer in her room, apparently shocked by the darkness that had suddenly enveloped her. I took her wrist tightly as she yelled again, trying desperately to free herself of my grasp. Rather peeved by her screaming, I put a hand over her mouth, causing the girl to swoon. Grudgingly, I carried her to a nearby well and attempted to awaken her. Only a few moments later, she woke again and tried feebly to push my hands away.

"Who are you? Where is the voice?" she asked me softly, completely confused by the situation that now faced her. I sighed as she asked this of me- clearly, this would be a more difficult thing than expected. _Of course that rotten old masked man could never have a beautiful voice, _I thought mockingly- if childishly- to myself before helping the girl to her feet.

I led Christine to Cesar- the magnificent white stallion I had taken after his use in _Le Prophete_- where she gladly acknowledged something visibly from her world. As she did this, a feeling of horrible dread washed over me... but there was no going back on what I had done. I held up Christine as we rode down the cellars to the lake, Cesar moving surprisingly faster than usual- presumably because he had again met with one of the chorus girls from his time as an Opera animal.

When we reached the humid, misty shore of the lake, I carefully placed Christine in my small boat and sent the horse immediately away. I rowed quickly- a result, I believe, of the level of adrenaline coursing through me at the time- my eyes locked upon the girl during the entire trip.

She cried out again when I took her in my arms, guiding her as gently as I could to the drawing-room of the house by the lake. I took an almost protective step back, my arms crossed, as the girl looked around the ridiculously flower-filled room in silent awe.

"Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no danger," I told her in a soothing voice, though still making quite sure to keep my distance from the girl. Suddenly, a flash of ugly anger visible in her normally pretty face, the girl rushed towards me, snatching futilely for my mask. But I caught her deftly by the wrists before her prying fingers could reach my face. "You are in no danger, so long as you do not touch my mask." I continued, pushing her gently into a chair by the hearth. Without another word, I knelt in a gesture of solemn humility in front of Christine. She looked around the room blankly for another moment before bursting into tears- caused, I believed, by the horrible realization that I was only a lunatic driven to obsession, not her perfect angel sent by her father. Immensely saddened by my child's tears, I spoke to her again.

"It's true, Christine," I whispered heavily, "I am not an angel, a spirit, or a ghost... I am Erik." A horrible, suffocating silence followed my admission, in which guilt literally began to take over my thoughts... I could suddenly not stand myself for what I had done to her.

"Oh, dear, sweet Christine!" I cried wretchedly, my hands clasped in an imploring gesture before her. "Please, please forgive me! I know you must certainly think me the lowliest and most despicable of men for what I have done to you, you have perfect right to... but... Please, it was a gesture of_ love_ that willed me to take you here... _I love you,_ fair Christine Daae!" I remained knelt at her feet for some time, sobs wracking my entire body and tears flowing seemingly ceaselessly from my deep eyes. I only looked up when she stood up again carefully. I watched this action warily, frightened by the number of horrible responses that she could throw at me.

"I can only despise you as you say if you do not immediately set me free," she told me in surprisingly rational tones- perhaps I had underestimated the girl's mind...

"Of course! Anything! Yes, if you so desire, I will of course show you the path to the world above... you may go wherever you please- I will show you the way, if you want to go back..." I gushed quickly, entirely elated by the fact that my dear Christine did not yet loathe me as I expected... though there was still plenty of time for _that._

I stood up tremulously as I spoke, a slightly devious idea coming into my mind... I was, after all, still at least partly her "Angel of Music." I strode over to my beautifully baroque silver harp and began to sing to her. Entranced by my song of love, Christine walked slowly over to where I where I was sitting and sat herself like a story-loving child being regaled with a miraculous tale at my feet. After hours, she fell quietly asleep to the sound of my voice... Truly one of the most blessed moments of my life.

I carried her to the Louis-Philippe bedroom in silence, still reveling proudly in my reprehensible triumph.

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**A/N: Whoo! Despite this chapter being unmercifully irksome due to my strange mixture of themes, I am on a roll! Chapter V is already begun!**

**R-E-V-I-E-W! PLEASE! No-one has reviewed for the last two chapters and I DESPERATELY need feedback! Don't be afraid to review because you hate it- I just need something, anything to tell me how this sounds!**

**Chapter V is begun, and shall hopefully be posted soon...**


	5. An Angel No Longer

Chapter V- An Angel No Longer

The next morning, I locked Christine in her room and left a note telling her of my departure- I had a fair bit of shopping to be done, with the arrival of my first "guest-" and donned my hooded Opera cloak, generally worn only to be spared the disturbed glances of people on the street.

I strolled calmly around Paris that brisk morning, the pale sun rise- for once- not making a complete mockery of my mood. After picking up several items for Christine, I met with the man who supplied me with morphine- it turned out that he had brought some interesting news from England, as well.

It turns out that there is a poor wretch of a boy with a fate shockingly similar to mine- at least, if I were still in such trade. He goes by the name of Joseph Carey Merrick, an Englishman with a bodily disfigurement so severe that he was deemed- most ungraciously- the Elephant Man. Born to a poor family, a workman and a Sunday-School teacher, he was said to have gained the disfigurement when his mother was knocked over by an Elephant in the fourth month of her pregnancy... though, such seems to be the makings of a showman rather than any sort of truth. Merrick is also supposed to be a surprisingly adept writer- though, I've no evidence of it- with a kind disposition and a great sense of beauty... Though I suppose I'll never meet this poor creature, nor see any more of him beyond this exchange of words, I do hope the boy will not have to suffer his affliction as long as I have mine.

Sobered by this news, I decided that it was time to be going home- Christine would probably be somewhat upset by my leaving the house.

When I reached the house by the lake, I walked carefully into the Louis-Philippe room in which I had left her. Sure enough, as I set my many boxes down on the bed, the girl began yelling at me, telling me how awful I was for leaving her for so long and demanding that I remove the mask, if I so claimed that it "hid the face of an honourable man."

"You will never see Erik's face," I told her placidly. "Why are you not washed yet?" I asked suddenly, apparently surprising the girl with so normal a question. "It is already two o' clock in the afternoon- here, I'll set your watch, my dear, and give you a half hour before lunch in the dining-room." Christine looked at me surprisedly as I tamely took her hand and set her watch to the correct time. Strangely angered by my measured civility, the girl stormed into her washroom and slammed the door in my face as I finished my sentence.

I had set out a magnificent meal for her- crayfish and chicken complimented with Tokay wine- and awaited her coming. There was a strange idea at the back of my mind at the time, though, that it was dangerous to leave her alone, as she might attempt to commit suicide, but I had been completely chivalrous to the girl- suicide would most likely be used only if I reverted to the monstrous instincts her mind told her must be prominent in me due to the unexplained masking of my face.

She emerged from her pleasant little washroom around twenty-five minutes after I had sent her. She seemed oddly more confident as she walked to my handsome old dining table and took a seat opposite me.

"I assure you that you are completely safe with me," I told Christine as she began to help herself to several crayfish. "I will only tell you I love you when you will it, and I will be sure to provide you with anything you ask. The rest of the time will be devoted entirely to music."

"The rest of the time?" the girl questioned warily.

"Five days," I told her firmly. "We will live and learn together for five days. And maybe, once those five days are up, you will care for me enough to come and visit your poor Erik once in awhile..." I felt heavy tears welling in my eyes as I spoke, rather distraught by the thought of what I had to sacrifice in a rash attempt to earn her love. We sat in tense silence for another quarter of an hour before Christine finished eating. I stood and walked to her side, a strange inquiry forming in my mind.

"My bedroom is rather curious," I offered amiably. "Would you care to see it?" I offered her my hand in the fashion of any normal man- she took it slowly, only to recoil again with a shriek. "I am sorry!" I moaned despairingly as she stared in terror at my deathly cold hand. It really was amazing how normal, how_ daring_ Christine seemed to make me feel.

We walked into my bedroom without a word- though I heard her give a small gasp as she laid her eyes on the great black coffin where I slept.

"I sleep there," I told her in the manner of a schoolmarm attempting to explain to her dullest student that two and two equaled four. "One has to get used to everything, even eternity." However, by then, her curious blue eyes had found the thick score of _Don Juan Triumphant_ resting by the sprawling pipe organ.

"I compose sometimes," I added conversationally as her eyes roved interestedly over the notes written in ink the colour of blood... it may as well have been blood- that work was my heart and soul, poured out into music so powerful that I believe it could make a person descend into insanity. "I started that work twenty years ago. When it is finished, I will take the score into the coffin and we shall die together... my soul and I." Christine looked at me with a puzzled expression before turning back to the music.

"Might I hear some of it?" she asked boldly.

"Music such as this is too powerful for you to hear... It is nothing like the cheerful little Bach hymns you have been made to sing all of your life... My _Don Juan_ burns, Christine, yet he is not struck down by the fire of heaven! Let us sing _music from the_ _Opera,_ Christine Daae." I said the phrase "music from the Opera" with a distinct note of scorn- after one has heard such music as my _Don Juan_, everything else seems like unfulfilling pieces devoid of any trace of emotion.

I had the girl sing instead some of my favourite parts of _Othello._ I was amazed- though I suppose now that there was a reason for it, considering her situation- at how purely fearful Christine sounded as she sang the part of Desdemona... Unfortunately, due to the fact that I was rather enthralled by the music, I did not notice Christine's prying hands moving towards my mask, her bright eyes no doubt wide in wonder as she prepared to take in the image of my face for the first time...

Rage shot immediately through my system as Christine removed my mask, hurling herself into the back wall of the dining room in fear. I emitted a horribly cry of anger as I moved towards the cowering girl.

"Look! You wanted to see!" I screamed in fury, my hands clenching and unclenching intuitively at my sides. "You wanted to see! _Now_ _see!_ Feast your eyes, glut your soul upon my accursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face! Now you know the voice of your _dear, sweet Angel!_ You women are so _curious!"_

I broke into thundering, chillingly mirthless laughter before continuing. "You women are so _curious!_ Are you _satisfied?_ You must admit that I am handsome. When a woman as seen me as you have, she loves me forever! I am the same type of man as _Don Juan,_ you see!" I drew myself to my full, rather imposing height, and cocked my head mechanically to the ceiling. "Look at me! _I'm Don Juan Triumphant!"_

"Please! Please, Erik! Don't do this to me, I beg you,_ please!"_ the girl cried desperately, her eyes wild and tears flowing incessantly down her red cheeks. I strode up to her quickly and entwined my long skeleton's fingers with her thick ash-blonde hair.

"Perhaps this is just another mask?" I roared at her, pulling her up so that she was looking me directly in the face. "Come, surely there is nothing in this world that could be so hideous and remain among the living! If your hands cannot remove the mask by themselves, I will gladly assist you!" I dropped her to the floor again and took her small, pale hands, digging her nails savagely into the flesh of my face.

"You must know," I started, my voice falling strangely into a still ire-laden control, "that I am built from death from head to foot, and it is a corpse that loves you, Christine, a corpse that loves you and will never, never leave you! I am going to have the coffin enlarged, Christine, for later, when we have come to the end of our love. Look," I said quietly, waving a hand to indicate my face. "I'm not laughing anymore, I'm crying... I'm crying for you; you pulled off my mask, and because of that, you can not be free. As long as you thought me handsome, you would have come back... I know you would have come back! But now you've seen my lamentable hideousness, and will only run away if I set you free... So I must keep you! Oh, foolish Christine, why did you want to see my face? When my father never saw me and my mother made a present of my first mask so she wouldn't have to see me anymore?..."

I fell to the floor, writhing and weeping violently in front of her for several minutes before crawling along the floor into my chamber and shutting the door softly behind me. Overcome with despair, I again turned to _Don Juan_. I began to strike out music so dejected, so unbelievably pitiful that it would sober Dionysus on his wedding night. Tears continued to flow from my eyes as I played, in woe that I would now have to actually make her my prisoner, and _that _seemed so_ horribly_ immoral... but I refused to let Christine go forever.

My music, at length, morphed into a song of powerful love, setting even my own soul ablaze with its fervent worship of what I could never have.

Suddenly, the door swung open and quiet footsteps made their way into my room.

"Erik," started Christine bravely, as though about to make an incredibly profound statement, "show me your face without fear. I swear that you are the most sublime man in the world, and if I ever again quiver when I look at you, it will be because I am reveling in the splendour of your genius!"

I turned about slowly, considering the girl in breathless wonder. I now know that it was incredibly foolish to take the girl's word, but my heightened emotions at the time told me that she must be telling the truth.

I fell to her feet, crying in an elated manner and kissing the hem of her dress obeisantly.

"You are the most merciful of people, Christine... You have given me the chance to love freely, as no-one else, not even my own mother would... I love you so, Christine..." These and similar statements poured unstemmed from my lips for a long while- I could not believe that I was finally having an impact on dear little Christine...

Now I just had to make her stay...

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**A/N: It was as bad as my others. What can I say? Very little of the speech of this chapter was mine, I wrote it way too quickly... yeah, you understand.**

**Has anyone else noticed that my chapters are getting progressively longer? It's really strange. Also, about Joseph Merrick- before you start messaging me saying that Merrick was eighteen at the time and had not even gone into the freakshow business, _I know that._ I just wanted to mention him in my story, as his is so interesting.**

**Anyway, REVIEW! I only have seven at the time of posting this and need feedback! All reviews are appreciated and are this time rewarded with a submissive Erik who cries at your feet and tells you how much he will always love you.**

**Chapter VI will come... when I think of what to write...**


	6. FILLER CHAPTER!

**A/N: You'll see.**

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-Technical- Chapter VI- Filler Chapter

Very sorry to anyone who put this story on your alerts list, as you'll just be alerted to the fact that I put a random chapter up that has nothing to do with the story!

(Of course, anyone who has read the rest may argue fairly that this is the best chapter I've written so far...)

Anyway, the purpose of this chapter is to apologize for the fact that I've not worked on "Inside My Mind" at all lately. I've been having MASSIVE writers' block and have still only half of a chapter to show for it. See, I HAD finished the chapter before, but it all got deleted during my Chemistry class one day, so... -Sigh-

It just seems rude to go unexplained for my absence in writing this work, in case anyone actually cares about my terrible writing.

Thank-you very much for reading this- I hope to finish my next chapter soon and get back into this fanfiction. I want to finish it, but I've been so busy with school, and my elite choir group... Forgive me.

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**A/N: I just basically said that I've not finished chapter six after MONTHS of coming up with nothing. Do you REALLY want to comment? Well, if you want to complain about my laziness, the comment system's always open.**

**Thank-you for your time. :3 Especially those who actually seem to like my writing.**


	7. In Which, In a Cliché Fashion, Themes Fr

**A/N: I own nothing but some of my own strange words and ideas.**

**Mostly the words, because this chapter idea was pretty much entirely plot-written by my friends Emily and Jinks. Why? Because they like random, almost-sex stories, I guess, despite how cliché it is...**

Chapter VI- In Which, In a Cliché Fashion, Themes From Previous Chapters are Used, For the Random Entertainment of the Reader and in Buying Time for the Lazy, Horrible Writer

It was truly amazing how my darling child managed to fill my hellish catacombs of a home with light, even in the first few hours of her "visit." The fact that she had seen my face seemed to add some level of frankness between us that I would have never thought possible... nor was it something that I particularly wanted. One of the tricks to my carefully constructed façade involved having the girl under a fair level of illusion. Being the "master of phantasmagoria," and keeping such a naïve child, one would think it easier to achieve. But, then, Christine always seemed to manage to pull truth out of me, even when she did not ask for it.

The feats of bravery performed by this ingenuous young girl truly astounded me- even if they _were_ completely out of fear. She had several of my masks burned, and she did not look away as I had her look into my face, rather in the manner of a beaten dog warily obeying its abusive owner.

There was one _particular_ incident, however, that fairly shook me to the core...

About a week and a half into our time together, my poor child contracted some respiratory trouble- most likely from the dank dampness of my home, which took some getting used to- and was coughing terribly. Some tea helped her throat, of course, but the respiratory upset prevented her from sleeping. So, I administered a quite strong opiate that would undoubtedly keep her out for at least half a day... an action that rather turned out to be a mistake, on my behalf.

With nothing else to do, I foolishly turned to my dark masterwork, _Don Juan Triumphant..._and to one of my favourite transpositions, the more lustful portion, written as a compilation of the many frustrating times in my life... Mostly concerning my first love and Mademoiselle Daaé. As I have undoubtedly mentioned before, this is a _torturous _movement, welling in the tumultuous and implacable feelings I have always been cursed with, but never able to completely relieve.

Unwonted thoughts and feelings began to pervade my mind as I took my place at the organ and began to play, first with an almost deadly, delicate softness, and quickly rising into such a thundering fortissimo that my music was practically tangible through the dank air. The heavy use of foot pedals gives this movement such further definition, and draws the player further into its emotions due to the physical action of moving so with the piece.

As the movement spread to its horrific culmination, the most monstrous idea rose to the surface of my clouded thoughts... Christine was dead asleep in the next room.

I must confess- though it pains me to admit so- that my spine was not the only part of me that jerked and stiffened impulsively with the idea.

With a singular purpose, I stood on tremulous legs, taking languorous, deliberate strides over to the door to the room that contained bits of what was left of my poor, miserable mother... and the current object of my fanatical desire. The tall, heavy ebony door opened with an almost unnerving silence, though the darkness within encouraged me further inside before I had chance to give another thought.

I can barely think of the image of Christine that night without shivering... Asleep, she had the most serene, innocent beauty one could ever wish for. Quite fueled by this sight, the black-hearted demon lusting for his captured angel, I moved sharply to the golden swan and stared at the girl, merely for the sake of doing so. In this place, I could not help but consider the old Chinese tale, of the Emperor and the nightingale... How the foolish old man tied her to his windowsill to hear her sing for him every morning...

I can't seem to recall anything but my own actions from this point forward. It is amazing, I think, how one can at times be so obsessed with thought, and at others to not be capable of such a conscious action.

My next "maneuver" of sorts was to sit beside my unconscious little child, running my dead, frozen fingers through her flaxen-silk hair, and sorely wishing that I had some semblance of a nose (though _now_, penning this, it sounds like a _completely_ inexplicable thought.) Perhaps it was because putting one's face in a lover's hair would leave something to be desired with only a hole in the middle of one's visage. Whatever the case, being rather unable to sufficiently control myself at that time, I slid into the golden swan behind her, impetuously pulling Christine's slight little frame tightly to me. Had she been awake, I am sure that the poor girl would have shrieked at such a foreign sensation. Of course, _I_ was practically as inexperienced as she... But instincts could carry one a long way in this sort of thing, as I had long since figured out. How strange it is, to think that this all occurred long before I was ever able to _kiss_ Christine!...

Long before I realized what I was doing- it must have been, for I can only clearly recall the results of my actions- I had succeeded in pushing the girl's gown from her slim shoulders, and had begun trying to turn her, when, to my horror, the child turned around herself. It was a moment of utter mortification, at first, thinking I had been found out, but... that was not to be the case. My dear child was still fast asleep, a faint smile upon her rosy lips. Perhaps she had been dreaming of her boy, but, in any event, she weakly took the lapels of my coat and sighed quietly in her sleep.

Perhaps a _braver_ man would have continued, with such encouragement from the subject... But, then, my conscience would not allow me to think of Christine in this way any longer, much less _stay_ with her at the present. Carefully prying her hands away, I left the room in total disgust of myself, my conflicting feelings for the girl again arising. What was I to her? _Who_ was I?... How could I ever know, when I could not even figure what _she_ was to _me?_

She was my _child,_ my lovely, sweet-singing child, whom I had raised to believe in angels and the power of voice... But, _now,_ at the first opportunity I found her incapacitated and unconscious, I had started the most repugnant series of thoughts and actions... I'd come to this conflict before, in merely thinking of her, but, fpr this one, when the actions I'd commited were so horribly real... I was lost.

I _loved_ my girl, but, even when it seemed I would have to keep her with me for fear that she'd never come back, I worried for my obsession. Despite the way I had only just attempted to take advantage of a horrible situation, I cared to think that I was putting Christine's best interests at heart at all times... Perhaps it _would _be best to have her leave, soon, to test whatever trust she had in me. The masked ball was coming soon enough, anyway... And a fortnight was what I had promised her.

Through my thoughts, I could hear the sound of tiny feet coming across the bedroom opposite, and the tall door creaking open to reveal my angel standing in the doorway, her lovely face blank with exhaustion.

"Erik..." she started quietly, in her beautiful voice, fairly causing me to shudder with how much that phrase echoed in my mind when I was alone, and thinking of Mademoiselle Daaé. "I felt something on my shoulder just now... a spider, or bug of some sort... Won't you find it for me?"

At the very least, I thought with a smile, after such treachery that I had committed, I could always trust in the inaccurate explanations come from a child's mind... And, though she still feared me to no end, dear Christine could depend upon me for _something._

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**A/N: OH MY GOD.**

**Just when you who alerted this story thought that I'd died, I came out with a new chapter. A suckish, horrible chapter, with a cliché storyline given to me by friends, but a new chapter nonetheless.**

**I apologize deeply for the fact that I've not come out with something for so long... But I've been very busy. At least I've given SOMETHING. So, this time, when you review (note the word, "WHEN,") you shall receive Erik from the cartoon, who has all the fun of mild insanity, but not so much as the book, and is still very sweet. If, by some freak chance, you don't, well... You will be sentenced to another mysterious thing from the cartoon, a curtain that, for some reason, cannot be lifted from the window of the torture chamber, and sounds like metal when hit with one's fist.**

**PLEASE review! _PLEASE!_ I've not put out a chapter in so long I can hardly remember what it feels like to get reviews again...**


	8. Perdition

**A/N: It's MINE! _ALL MINE!!..._**

**Except for the characters and the general plotlines stolen from Gaston Leroux and all that. Heh.**

Chapter VII- Perdition

I kept her at my house for a fortnight. In the duration of her time there, I gave her several somber threats to ensure that she would return to me. Though I do not believe that that was what brought her back to me that night of the Masqued Ball....

I led her calmly to the above world that night, despite the horrible sense of loss that made my heart feel like frozen lead.

"You will dress as the black domino," I told her finally, as we reached the passage to the world above. "That is how they will expect you to be dressed. You will be required to meet me a few hours after the masked ball.... I may even arrive myself, if I sense there is something terribly the matter...." The girl, understandably, looked frightened at this remark- of course, I would attend the ball either way. I had fashioned myself a costume based upon Edgar Allan Poe's "Red Death- I have always liked the man's works, despite his being one of those horrendously pompous Americans whom I have generally found distasteful, besides this particular authour.

Tears beginning to fall from my eyes, I stopped the girl once more before she made her exit.

"Christine... _promise_ your Angel that you will come back... _please..."_ I pleaded pitifully, grasping her hand as if it were the only thing keeping me alive. With a small, mortified nod, the girl slipped her tiny hand from my rather weak grasp. As her delicate, mouse-like footsteps faded away, I again returned to the house by the lake, determined to have my darling child come back to me.

My costume for the Masqued Ball was, admittedly, quite magnificent. A very commanding French officer's uniform decked out in a bright, blood-like scarlet colour, a long cape, and an ostentatious hat that rather made me appear inhumanly tall. If I was to be _Monsieur le Cadavre Vivant,_ this time spreading death rather than merely portraying it as a freak show oddity, I had to properly cut the figure. Despite the fact that this was a masquerade, however, I chose _not_ to wear a mask. No one who saw me would suspect that it was my real face, other than the girl, at least, and I did not exactly expect to meet with her. I would, however, be keeping a silent vigil over her boy for most- if not, all- of my time there.

Perhaps it was merely the thought of losing my dear child that brought me to the surface that horrid night... while I do find myself often engrossed in the hatred of her fatuous young courtier, I believe that I was at my most pathetic at that point in the incident, concerning her... If she'd gone back on her promise, it would have been the very end.

Of course... only a few steps into the Masquerade that night, I spotted them.... The white and the black domino, staring up the staircase at me vacantly, as the rest of the crowd was, for what I assume was the sudden shock of seeing such a tall and grotesquely-clad figure. I immediately started to the opposite direction as it happened- apparently enraging Monsieur de Chagny, for all around that night, there were whispers of the 'eccentric young man searching for the Red Death'- and took refuge in that place I took to _pray_... Apollo and his golden lyre raised in glory to the heavens, now brought sadly to a dim purpose by the darkest of his students.

Even _now_, it seems a ridiculous proposition... I had not 'believed' in any sort of divine being since I was a diluted young boy, living in a world of sugared fancy constructed entirely by my over-active imagination. While I have changed little over the years, in the fact that I have the habit of believing dreams once they've become tasteful enough to me, at least, I thought I was beyond this sort of petty pandering to a non-existent spectre created out of man's obsessive vanity.

Yet I found myself upon the roof anyway that lamentable night, standing among the strings of the magnificent statue, quite literally at the brink. As it always does, being so very pessimistic about my life as I am, the thought crossed my mind to merely let go.... Nothing could be changed by my purpose there. My love would _still_ be abhorred by me, and thoroughly in love with another, far better man, right beneath my feet, who, while not the most bright of fellows... would undoubtedly give her everything I had always _wished_ to give her. Comfort. Protection. Everlasting love.... Things that my age and manner before her in the past would not allow.

I wasn't bound much longer for this Earth- even _I_, ever the imaginative old monster, could not deny that, with the seizures and Masons' Lung finally beginning to take a grinding toll. And to force my dear child into what she thought was love, then dying months, even weeks later, was an even more terrible prospect. I never wished for her to be alone, or,- though it was likely impossible,- regret for our time together.

Still, I remained at my place, despite all of the doubts that I threw at myself by the moment, hearkening back to my time as a righteous young Catholic child, kneeling on the back of the true _'Angel of Music'_ and proclaiming my pitiful prayers before the soulless, empty onyx sky filled with a conglomerate of fancifully named stars above Paris. I did not ask for forgiveness... rather, I only asked for what I wished for, and what my dreams told me was possible, if I only wished hard enough. If I had any feeling of Heaven and Hell left within me, I knew that I was absolutely condemned. There was no point begging for the impossible to happen.

Though, as I reiterate once more, the prospect of my dear love finding love in me was just as unlikely. But if I thought of it, and fancied the thought enough... it _had_ to be true. Such is the manner of madmen....

I asked only for the thoughts of my love, and for her to come back to me... as well as her protection, and clarity in the choice she would be bound to make, caught between the love she wished for and the one that fear of damnation forbid her turn away from.

Sadly,- or, more likely, with all of the fortune of an enlightened demon,- I was interrupted from my imagination as the door to the rooftop swung open... and my golden-haired angel and her veritable bastard of a fiancé emerged, in black and white, the angel and demon... reversed satirically in the perverse manner of that wretched fools' masquerade.

They whispered to each other.... But voices grew quickly louder within the silence and assumed loneliness of the night, and, soon enough, Christine, in all of her childs' treachery, spoke of my name and my horror loudly enough for me to echo her, practically out of dying disbelief rather than to frighten she and her handsome young man. The two hardly understood what it was, I marveled. What was most perturbing about the sickeningly loving vignette unfolding before me was the terrible, admitted deceitfulness of my love- that she had lived an utter, bloody _lie_ for all of the time we spent together, that made me turn away from her pale face glowing in the night as if _she_ were the one disfigured by birth and by a twisted spirit. _Lied_ when she said she would come back to me, when she burned my masks, _lied_ when she looked into my face without a cry of fearful despair....

I could have openly wept when her boy questioned about love. At how very readily my dear child denied any feelings for me... but horror. "Oh, horror, horror, _horror!" _She cried out into the night, unable to even contain her cut-glass voice at the memory of me.... If _she_ shall live to be a hundred and still remember my lamentable face, then when I am so old, _I_ shall still recall the very pitch and conviction for which those words cast me away into nothing.

If it was the archangel's lies that made me sad, their promise to be gone was the blow that brought me into assured madness. An insult, it seemed, that she pledged to give me a swan's heart-rending prothamalion before leaving to my solitary Hell without so much as an open _'farewell.'_

The children kissed, then. Taking their masks off, the first flush of a lover's embrace met my daughter's sweet face even in the dark. She smiled, as I'd always fancied she would for me, and took her gloves off to entwine her pale little fingers in the thick hair of her boy, as if to bring truth to the fact that her promise was real, _this _time, that she was really free of all the deceit of night....

And, as the most wretchedly perfect symbol as one could ever suppose in the moment, the pain gold wedding-ring I'd given her, and bid her never to lose for fear of torment, slipped carelessly off her tiny finger and rolled innocently and silently away, across the roof until it fell, as I wished, to the watery street below. She had cast off the chains of my pitiful love that constantly drove a dagger into its own heart for what she _really_ wished for, and deserved.... The assurance of things that I could never procure for her, even with all the wealth and love in the world.

Even though I'd made some, minute effort to remain undetected... I think it quite understandable that a cry came belting from by throat as the pair pulled away from one another. Christine had made a small fuss over her ring being gone, but... she no longer cared enough for the fact to make any difference. What is one minute sin absolved when one has committed the great and deadly seven?

They immediately took flight, and I, with no particular goal but to exact some maniacal plot for revenge, through the soaring rafters of the roof until they finally came back to their door, where I could already hear that meddling old Persian instructing the children how best to flee from my eyes.

I chased them no longer... rather, I crawled down the gilded facade of the gargantuan House of Music to the street; as if a dark reflection of what had just happened, the telling sky had already begun to weep sordid tears of heavy black rain. The ring glinted its warm gold against the tracked walkways, a beacon in the street invisible to all but myself... the enlightened and the damned.

Placing the thing in my hand, I cried out my childish misery all the way back to my home, truly a young boy who had been spoiled without getting a thing he wanted.... The very reason why the horrid plans already flew through my mind, as to how to steal back my child from the clutches of my own monster.

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**A/N: _How_ long has it been, exactly? A year since I last posted a chapter?**

**Well, anyway, it's been a really long time. As for reviewing goodies... hmm.... Well, reviewing will get you a GerryErik with BookErik's voice. All the advantages of hotness plus the voice a commanding character deserves. -Swoon-**

**If not, you get regular GerryErik. Mwahahahaha, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.... (_NOT_ _"ECK CETERA!!")_**

**Kindly review, even if you didn't like it. I loves meh feedback. =3**


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